


The Pursuit of Happiness

by blisskendall



Category: Kickthestickz, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Chris Kendall - Freeform, Contest, KickThePj - Freeform, KickTheStickz - Freeform, M/M, PJ Liguori - Freeform, crabstickz - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blisskendall/pseuds/blisskendall
Summary: Winner of the KickTheStickz Fanfiction Contest 2017 [by Molly Ives]





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story was written by Molly Ives. It's not written by me. I don't own any part of it. I only got permission to upload it. 
> 
> Winner of the KickTheStickz fanfiction contest held on Twitter/Tumblr in 2017.  
> Enjoy!

Chris was nervous, which was not unlike him before his first appearance of the night on stage. He was to play Mercutio in the high school’s production of Romeo and Juliet, which at first seemed overdone until the challenge of having no costumes and little to no props was released to them. Chris looked down and smoothed out his faded scarlet button-up, remembering the challenge and thinking of how unusual it was for him to go on stage without physically being someone else. He remembered when he bought the shirt with his mother last spring. The store clerk had platinum blonde hair and thick makeup which creased near her eyes and her mouth, revealing her fake smile and old age. He remembered thinking of the similarities between her and his own mother.  
  
Nicolas had brought him out of his reminiscent trance. “Babe, the scene is about to start. You alright?” He asked, taking Chris’ hand. Chris smiled up at him, squeezing Nicolas’ soft hand and assured him that everything was alright. “You’re going to do amazing, as usual. We’ve practiced a million times over.” Nicolas was also dressed in modern clothes; a dark cyan button-up with black suspenders attached to the waist of his khakis. With a wink and a peck on Chris’ cheek, Nicolas had returned to his wing for the entrance.  
  
They had been together for many months now after meeting in that year’s theater class and growing a strong bond quickly. Their instructor, Mr. Clarke, soon had more than one jokester to worry about what with the arrival of Nicolas not dissuading Chris from his humorist ways. It seemed only fate that they both were selected for the Romeo and Juliet play, as well as characters that were close friends—Romeo and Mercutio. Of course, once Chris and Nicolas became a couple, the two roles were portrayed as slightly more than just friends. Mr. Clarke soon discovered it was to no avail in scolding them for sneaking kisses or holding one’s hand more than necessary and let them do as they wished with the role.  
  
Jeremy, playing Benvolio, soon appeared next to Chris as they waited for their cue. Poor Jeremy, people had said when they heard he was to play Benvolio. He’s a mere shadow of an actor compared to Chris and Nicolas. It wasn’t that Jeremy was a bad actor, after all, it was difficult to be selected for this play. It was just that the chemistry Chris and Nicolas had when on stage made Jeremy fade as he lacked the explosive performance the two could give. This was not unbeknownst to him; rumor had it, Jeremy had requested a role change, so he wouldn’t look so out of place on stage with those two. They were impossible to match their stage presence. Nevertheless, Jeremy had stayed in his role.  
Sure enough, the lights came up and the scene began.  
  
“What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without apology?” Nicolas protested at the others, trailing behind the two. Chris no longer had to wipe his sweaty hands on his black slacks, as he was consumed with a new confidence only Mercutio had. “Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling. Being but heavy, I will bear the light.” Nicolas stretched out his hand, now to the right of Chris.  
  
“Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance!” Chris approached him.  
  
“Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground I cannot move.” Romeo replied, moving away. A small smirk was apparent on Mercutio’s face.  
  
“You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings and soar with them above a common bound.” He gestured to a great beyond before storming toward Benvolio. After an exchanging of lines, Chris saw his opportunity to advance.  
  
“Is love a tender thing?” Romeo had shouted. “It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.”  
  
“If love be rough with you…” Mercutio took bold steps toward Romeo, hovering just behind Romeo’s left shoulder. “Be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.” After saying these words directly into his ear, Mercutio kissed Romeo on the cheek quickly before turning away, chuckling.  
  
“I’ll be a candle holder, and look on. The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.”  
  
“Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word. If thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire,” Mercutio held Romeo by the head, forcing him to look into his eyes as he continued, veering closer and closer Their noses were centimeters apart. “Or—save your reverence—love, wherein thou stick’st up to the ears. Come,” He shouted, releasing Romeo of his hold. “we burn daylight, ho!”  
  
Chris was now reciting the Queen Mab speech. He had sauntered over to Romeo and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and then his neck, talking right into his ear. He tucked Romeo’s dirty blond hair behind his ear, earning a smirk that was quickly lost once Mercutio removed his arms and the distance grew.  
  
As it became more intense, Romeo’s brow furrowed at his friend. Mercutio was fiddling with the mask in his hand, picking at the eye holes and snapping the string, looking smaller with each word. He was almost shaking with fear as he passed the line of a teasing story to a horror tale, one which scared himself so much so that Nicolas had almost forgotten his line as he was entranced by the performance.  
  
“Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk’st of nothing.” He held his arms out to Mercutio, to which he grasped his wrists.  
  
“True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy…” He continued his story in a harrowing manner when interrupted by Benvolio at last. Romeo had continued his protests, holding Mercutio’s hand in an attempt to convince him. “With this night’s revels, and expire the term of a despised life closed in my breast by some vile forfeit of untimely death.”  
  
Mercutio placed his hand on top of Romeo’s, looking into his eyes before wrapping him in a slow and reassuring hug. He stared at him for a moment after pulling away before grabbing his hand and leading him toward Jeremy.  
  
“But he that hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail. On, lusty gentlemen.” Romeo raised his defeated hand outward to Benvolio, as he happily retrieved a mask for Romeo. Mercutio had a satisfied look on his face.  
  
“Strike, drum.” Benvolio marched them off the stage.  
  
As soon as stepping out of the light, Chris was greeted from behind as Nicolas grabbed him by the waist and spun him around. “You really are stupid. You know Mr. Clarke is going to freak out at that hug. I didn’t see that stage direction at the end.” Though his words seemed to scold, his facade melted into a childish smile with crinkled blue eyes leaving dimples on his cheeks.  
  
“I suppose you must’ve missed a page in the script, then,” Chris replied, leaning in to kiss him.  
  
“Set change! Lucy, grab that vase and get it out there, will you?” Mr. Clarke said to a sophomore girl leaning against the wall. “Kendall.”  
  
Nicolas had to look away to keep from laughing. Mr. Clarke’s stout posture and small height made his threatening stare and voice deteriorate, as it was difficult to feel inferior to a 5-foot-tall man. Chris muttered his apologies as Mr. Clarke sighed exasperatedly and stormed away.  
  
“I’m going to get our waters. Want yours?” Chris nodded in response and watched Nicolas walk down the stairs toward the dressing room. As soon as he was out of sight, Amanda sauntered in front of him. Chris looked up at the ceiling and sighed.  
  
“Yes, Amanda?” Amanda was known as the most talented actor in the whole theater company. If people didn’t want to date her, they wanted to be her. She was captivating as an actress and could memorize lines within minutes of receiving the script. She was most known, however, by her relationship strategy. Amanda would fixate on one guy and be relentless in pursuing him, though most times, she didn’t have to try very hard. Recently, she had her eye on Nicolas.  
  
Chris knew Nicolas was loyal and that he loved Chris, but Amanda still made Chris nervous. She always got who she wanted, even if it meant being a homewrecker in other’s relationships. Of course, she had gotten the role as Juliet.  
  
“I just wanted to tell you that you and Nicolas did great just now, but did you really have to kiss his cheek? And that hug… talk about out of character acting.” She laughed to herself. Chris clenched his jaw knowing that talking back would only make things worse. “I’ll show you a real kiss. See you on stage!” Chris felt his stomach plummet to his feet as he realized the very next act would be the meeting of Romeo and Juliet, and perhaps the worst part for Chris, their first kisses. If Amanda was serious—and she often was—then this would be a little more than a stage kiss.  
  
A nauseating feeling filled his head and he stumbled to the wall to sit down. Nicolas soon returned with their waters and formed a puzzled look when he saw Chris on the ground. Carefully, he sat next to him.  
  
“Everything alright- “  
  
“Do you love me?” Chris whispered. He knew the servingmen on stage had to be almost finished by now.  
  
“Wha- yes, of course, I love you. Chris, what’s going on?”  
  
A voice in the dark whispered that they were almost on. Before Nicolas could say anything else, Chris hugged Nicolas suddenly before stepping away. Nicolas grasped Chris’ hand and squeezed it before following him onstage, accompanied by Jeremy and other party guests.  
  
The whole scene itself was one of the more painful ones, especially after Amanda’s visit. When Romeo trailed off to pursue Juliet, Chris was forced to pretend to enjoy the party while hiding the swirling pool of nerves in his stomach. At last, the party members left the stage and he was relieved of keeping a mask. He and Amanda were alone on stage.  
  
He had to leave. He couldn’t watch his boyfriend kiss Amanda even if it was just for the play. He knew Amanda didn’t mean it as Juliet kissing Romeo. Chris had never left during Nicolas’ performances until now. Throughout the rest of the show, his mind plagued him with images of how the kiss would have looked had he seen it. Perhaps, he thought. It would have been better if I had seen it. Then I would know how bad it got.  
  
It was too late for all of that now. He played out the rest of the show the best he knew how and didn’t veer off his character directions toward Romeo anymore. Once the curtains had closed, Chris almost ran to the dressing room to collect his things. His button-up had sweat stains from the hot lights, so he took it off and pulled on a plain grey tee-shirt. Others started filtering in, and suddenly, Chris felt very cramped. He didn’t even notice when Nicolas had tried to grab his sleeve, to which he must’ve shoved off.  
  
He didn’t realize he had gone all the way to the lobby until he looked up to see people filtering out. Some of them gave Chris compliments, and eventually, they all trailed away. The lobby was cold. Chris got up for a drink of water near the water fountains since he had run out. He wanted to go home; he was certain Amanda had a love potion on her lips and could whisk away anyone with a single kiss. He was sitting on a cold metal bench in the lobby with his black theater bag near his feet when Nicolas found him again.  
  
“Chris!” He exclaimed from the hallway leading to the lobby. He broke out into a jog. “I didn’t know where you were. Some of the cast want to go out for dinner as a celebration—we had sold out the theater!” His voice had faltered from what he wanted to say next when he saw Chris’ dismal look. “What is it?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Chris picked at a loose thread on his slacks.  
  
Nicolas looked at him funny. “Chris,” he took his hands, bending down on his knees to meet his level. “I’ve known you long enough to know that something’s bothering you. You love hanging out with the cast. Do you remember the last time we sold out? You were so happy that you told me you loved me. You should be jumping like a kangaroo right now. What’s going on?”  
  
“I’m just s-scared,” Chris was surprised by the weak croak that came out. His throat felt like it was closing up. “W-we both know A-Amanda’s reputation, I-I-I just don’t want her to s-steal you away from m-me.” He felt hot tears streaming down his face. “Y-You make me happier than I’ve been in y-years. I don’t want to l-lose you.” He wiped away the tears quickly, laughing despite everything. “Look at m-me. I’m a m-mess.”  
  
Nicolas used his finger to tilt Chris’ head up so he was looking at him. “Listen to me, okay? You aren’t going to lose me. You are never going to lose me. No girl—especially Amanda Atkins—is ever going to change us. I love you, Chris Kendall. And I’ll never stop.” Chris nodded in reply, smiling wearily. “God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry. You’re supposed to be the comedic entertainer! C’mon, let’s go just for an hour or so and then we can go home and (fun theater kid activity.)” Nicolas kissed him slowly, trying to give him the same reassuring comfort that Chris gave Nicolas on stage.  
  
“We are,” Chris said, regaining his voice. “We’re the comedic entertainers.” He laughed. “Let’s give them a show.”


	2. Chapter 2

A particularly detailed drawing of a rocket ship was snatched off of PJ’s desk by a stern Mr. Boss Man just as he was fixing the decal on the windows of the great ship.  
  
“My office. now.” He barked before marching his massive body through the cubicles’ hallways, knocking over some papers as he did. It astounded PJ every day that he was able to perform this maneuver.  
  
His eyes lingered on the cubicles for a second longer, imagining their sleek wooden desks and walls with pictures and a computer with a clean keyboard with a permanent coffee ring to the right of it, an empty mug placed elsewhere in the four walls.  
  
He then glanced down at the fold-out, plastic white “desk” he had in front of him. In the corner of the spacious room, away from the other workers. At least the wall was mainly glass, so he was able to look out across the courtyard and see the skyline of Brighton, which was commonly cascaded in the dull light from the clouded sky.  
  
The desk was covered in papers, the black tray piled with half a food of loose papers being the only permanent item on the desk apart from his weathered briefcase that reposed to his right. The pile seemed to never end.  
  
PJ figured he’d given the Boss Man enough time to cram his fat, stout body back into his swivel chair and got up to pay him a friendly visit.  
  
As he traveled down the aisles, he tried not to look into the cubicles in fear of being reminded of the perfect men’s nine-to-five job lives with a wife ready with a big smile when they come home, dinner steaming on the table. “How was work, dear?” She’d ask, calling the kids downstairs for supper.  
  
PJ shook his head, took his hands out of the pockets of his black slacks, and opened the wooden door, behind which certain doom impended.  
  
“How’s it hanging, Boss Man?” PJ asked nonchalantly, closing the door behind him, his hands lingering on the metal handle, waiting for an invitation to sit.  
  
Boss Man had an oily fat face with four chins and delicate half-moon spectacles that slid down his oily hook nose, with thinning, dark hair—also oily. He was perched precariously on a black chair, hidden from sight, certainly suffocating and screaming for air.  
  
He sighed. “I thought I told you not to call me that. Liguori,” Boss Man said shortly. “Sit.” And PJ obliged, preferring to sit in the chair closest to the door. If Boss Man started breathing fire like a dragon, PJ could make a quick escape. Carson, right. I always forget the real name. PJ thought, eyeing the nameplate on Boss Man’s desk.  
  
“I see you’ve been scribbling over your hard-working peers’ papers again?”  
  
“Oh, are we playing an observation game? I’d love to play. I see that your diet has failed, much like your scrappy marriage, according to the honeymoon picture, which miraculously moved to your bookshelf from your desk. Mr. Boss Man turned as red as a tomato.  
  
“Why you little...” He said, before collecting himself. PJ figured he needed to keep his blood pressure down. “I’m sure you know why I called you in here- “  
  
“Question,” PJ interjected. “Should the green flavor of sweets be lime or sour apple?” Upon this comment, PJ remembered he had a small green hard candy in his pocket, unraveled the wrapper, and popped it into his mouth. “Lime. Speaking of my ‘hard-working peers’, have you ever taken into considering my hard work? It isn’t easy creating masterpieces with wooden pencils and cheap printer paper, you know?”  
  
“I’ve had it with your disrespect! If it weren’t for your mother, you’d be out of here faster than you can come up with one of your stupid interjections! Liguori, you need to fix it before those extenuating circumstances wear out.”  
  
However, PJ wasn’t listening. He was currently assessing this morning’s cup of tea from his favorite cafe. Bland, he thought. Too weak. How hard was it to make a simple cup of black tea?  
  
“Are you even listening?!” Boss Man yelled incredulously.  
  
“Something about my mother and ‘fixing it’ I presume?” He mindlessly scratched the wooden armrest, furthering the intent he had been working on for over a year. “You’ve got it, Boss Man. My sincerest apologies, as usual. I will fix the problem.” He recited, standing to leave and exiting before Boss Man could respond.  
  
He kept his head down again walking through the aisles to the back of the naturally lit corner and sat down in his uncomfortable chair. One of his “punishments” was not being able to bring his own furniture to decorate his desk. He didn’t want pictures of him and his dad at the place where he only had a job because the boss has a crush on PJ’s mom— he deserves more than that.  
  
For the last bit of the day, PJ actually sorted the papers into piles that were to be collected sometime after he left he felt bored yet productive and was glad when his alarm went off at 5:00 to dismiss him and the other workers.  
  
PJ was the first one out of the building. He took a deep breath of the fresh air before climbing into his car and driving home.  
  
The flat building was fairly large and expensive for the monthly rent, but his job paid well, and he could afford it. Trudging through the hallways, ready to go to bed, he realized he didn’t know many if any of his neighbors. All the doors were bland, and it reminded PJ of when he was back in college. At least then people often had their doors open for guests to come in and say hello.  
  
At last, he came across his own door. Unlike the others, he added a whiteboard with a marker, upon which he had once scribbled his name in a green marker. He left the markers there, but no one ever drew anything. He knew if he still lived in a dorm that people would leave messages for him. They used to, at least.  
  
The room was narrow and long. To the immediate right, the stretch of wall was brick, with the rest of the walls a cream color. A double bed barely fit longways at the very end of the room. Above it, a small light fixture dangled from the ceiling. The window at the end of the room was the only source of natural light, but it was a big window, and it filled the room with the dim light of the setting sun. Along the walls leading toward the end of the room, shelves littered the walls holding figurines from video games or movies, and a single dresser where more keepsakes reposed. On the right, two chairs folded into the wall with a small table standing between them. A full-length mirror with a metal frame leaned behind the chair closer to the door with a door to an ordinary bathroom to the left. Soft lamps in the room glowed different colors of green, blue, and red, cascading the room in a collage of color. PJ knew he could afford more with the job he had, but he enjoyed the cozy feeling his knickknacks and posters created in the room.  
  
PJ threw his briefcase on the table and flopped on his bed. He sat up after a few minutes and decided to play Mario Kart on the TV directly in front of his bed. For dinner, he had simply ordered some pizza and played video games before feeling tired and finally falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

PJ’s alarm woke him up much too early the next morning, and the warm blankets tried to convince him to stay in bed, but he knew the usual cafe he goes to is typically much busier on Friday mornings.  
  
Quickly getting dressed in the same black suspenders as yesterday, he buttoned up a white shirt and slipped on his red shoes over multicolored zigzag socks before grabbing his empty briefcase and heading out the door.  
  
While he drove down the familiar roads, his thoughts began to wander for the first time he visited the cafe.  
  
Growing up in a single parent household wasn’t easy. PJ remembered having to sacrifice vacations in order to keep the house and the car and insurance. Even though he and his dad had struggled financially, PJ’s dad always made money in their tight budget for a new video game PJ wanted or a movie he wanted to see in the cinema. Being able to go to university to study film seemed too good to be true— and it was. Having to drop out of university was one of the hardest things PJ and his dad had to do. PJ had to leave one of the best years of his life behind and move back home. He had managed to finally find like-minded people, and his friends managed to keep in touch for a little while, but when school started again, they were always busy. This was the first place PJ and his dad met up at when PJ returned to Brighton. His dad had ordered coffee but even after all these years, PJ still preferred tea.  
  
Warm air hits his pink nose and cheeks making him smile, as he stumbles into the small coffee shop on the corner of the block.  
  
A barista around his age with messy brown hair catches his eye and he joins the line, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his heavy coat. The line seemed to diminish before his eyes and suddenly it was his turn to order.  
  
"And what would a strapping lad such as yourself like to indulge on an early morning such as this?” The young man asked in a deep voice, a dazzling smile playing on his lips. A blush crept up the PJ’s cheeks, as he wasn’t used to people being so forward.  
  
"Just a cup of hot green tea, thanks,” PJ grinned at him.  
  
"Hear that, Janet?!” He yelled over the bustle of people in the cafe. “That’ll be one cup of our finest hot green tea!” Behind him, a teenager with black hair loosely secured in a ponytail sighed, staring Chris down before continuing her work. Chris returned his attention to PJ. “I’ve only just started yesterday and she already hates me.” He laughed, and PJ felt his stomach skip. “and what is your name? For the cup."  
  
PJ." He replied.  
  
"And is that for here to go?"  
  
PJ frowned. “To go, I suppose, but what's the difference?"  
  
"I was just curious as to how much longer I could see you around here." a smirk appeared on his face as if applauding himself on being smooth.  
  
“Well then,” PJ coughed and glanced down to read the barista’s white name tag. "Chris,” He noted it was taking a while for Chris to write PJ’s name on the cup. He tried to peer over the counter to read it.  
  
"No peeking," Chris grinned, placing the cup on the counter behind him. "Now. That will be two pounds." PJ furrowed his brows in confusion before remembering he meant the cost of the drink. He fished out a 5-dollar bill from his pocket and handed the bill to him as Chris purposely brush their hands together before retrieving the money. Chris handed over his change, which PJ promptly dropped into the tips jar with a grin.  
  
"Thanks again!" PJ gave him a wholehearted smile.  
  
"Thank you, kind sir!" Chris placed a hand on his chest and smile to PJ, earning a scoff. “Next?" he sung.  
  
Janet grabbed the cup and, with a scoff, prepared the drink and slid it across the counter a few minutes later. "PJ?" She asked.  
  
"That's me, thanks!" PJ classed the warm drink between his hands and turned to read what Chris had written.  
  
Numbers were scrawled on the side of the green cup along with the name “Chris” written carefully, but PJ’s named circled. PJ smiled at the cup and gave the barista one last grin, which was returned with a subtle wink, before stepping out into the brisk wind and sea of businessmen.  
  
The cup had begun to warm his frigid hands and he reluctantly put it down in the cup holder of the car.  
  
When he arrived at work, he plopped the empty briefcase down on the foldout table, intertwined his fingers in front of him, and waited for the slow steam of people to drop their papers into his tray. What he wasn’t expecting so early in the morning, however, was Mr. Boss Man hobbling towards him, a stuffed manila folder in his chubby hands.  
  
“Fix it,” he barked, slapping it down with a hard ‘thud’ against the empty table. PJ glanced up from the large stack and looked at him incredulously. Just before leaving, Mr. Boss Man swiveled on his heel—an action never before was seen by a man of such size—and plopped a white eraser on top.  
  
He opened the folder. There had to have been at least one-hundred papers, each with varying amounts of doodles. Along with the folder, his coworkers sauntered up, stifled a laugh, and filed more of their papers into his tiny tray.  
  
After correcting about 15 papers, eraser shreds covered his table and his artwork was gone. He came across a dragon sketch on the back of a particularly boring report and looked it over for a moment. He fixed the lines on the fire shooting out of the beast’s mouth and corrected the eyebrows to look angrier at the village in flames. Once PJ was happy with it, he went to take another swig of tea, when he remembered the phone number scrawled on the side of the cardboard heat cover.  
  
Without thinking twice, he added the number to his phone and sent a quick “hello” to the barista before putting his phone back on the table.  
  
For a while, PJ completely forgot about sending the text. He was busy perfecting his dragon until he realized he was supposed to be erasing his drawings, and sadly scrubbing the details away before his very eyes.  
  
After two hours of this, PJ began to feel like he was mourning the death of lost friends as more of his forgotten creations fell to the floor, only faded marks remaining.  
  
At long last, he had finished. The workday was over, but the wonderful collage of buildings and towers seemed less glamorous than before and all he wanted to do is crawl into bed and watch mindless cartoons, and he planned to until his phone went off—a sound he was not used to.  
  
_**PJ! I do hope you can join me at the cafe quite soon. My shift ends at 5:30 if you’d like to talk over a warm beverage.**_ **-Chris**  
  
PJ glanced up at the clock, which still read 5:00. He sorted the erased papers into a makeshift pile, grabbed the light briefcase, put on his jacket, and walked out to his car.  
  
Once he got to the cafe, PJ slid into one of the chairs at a table for two, smiling at Chris, who was busy with a customer, but returned the quick smile. After that customer had left with their drink, Chris took off his green apron, and waved PJ over.  
  
“Hi,” He said. “Want drinks?” PJ agreed, and the pair walked to the counter, where another worker had taken Chis’ place. “Jonathan!” He yelled. “No other man I’d rather have taking my order. PJ? What would you like?”  
  
PJ was trying to stifle a laugh looking at Jonathan. He was, at most five-foot-five, with brilliant red hair and pale skin. The apron hung too low on him. “Green tea for me, please.”  
“Ah, PJ,” Chris chided. “Always with the tea. As for me, I’ll take that loaded hot chocolate we just added on the menu.” Jonathan sighed in response, tapping on the screen and telling us the total. Chris’ hot chocolate was four times the cost of his green tea. Just as PJ was trying to fish out his wallet, Chris had already handed over money to Jonathan. PJ thanked him, and they went to go sit down.  
  
“So! PJ... no last name yet. All I know about you is your unhealthy obsession with green tea.”  
  
PJ laughed. “Green tea is hardly unhealthy. Compared to the cluster-fuck of whipped cream they’re putting on your drink, that is.” Chris whipped around and turned back with a wide grin like a kid in a candy store. “And, it’s Liguori.”  
  
“Kendall.” Just as he finished his word, their names were called out, and Chris sauntered over to the mug that was the “Loaded hot chocolate”, which was piled high with sweets and whipped cream. Chocolate syrup oozed down from the top peak of the drink. Next to it, PJ’s green cup of tea looked pathetic.  
  
Nevertheless, the two grabbed their respective drinks and sat down at the small brown table.  
  
“I can’t help but notice your dashingly formal attire. What’s your job?”  
  
“Uh,” PJ thought of a name to accompany his hours at work. What did he do for a living, exactly? “File paperwork. Basic nine-to-five job.” Chris looked at him incredulously, as if he were joking.  
  
“Right, well, that’s... nice.” Chris’ slick demeanor had stumbled.  
  
“No,” PJ sighed. “It isn’t nice. I hate it.” He took a sip of his drink, which burnt his tongue.  
  
“Why are you working there, then? Trying to climb the corporate ladder? That doesn’t really sound like you.”  
  
PJ stared at his cup. “Well, maybe you just don’t know me very well.”  
  
“PJ, my sense of intuition is very strong here, and it tells me you don’t enjoy this job.” Chris chuckled.  
  
“It wouldn’t be called a job if it was fun,”  
  
“What kind of bullshit... you are seriously thinking for the next 40 years you want to stay in a monochrome job, so you can get promoted to an even more boring job, and then another that just pays more?”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be paid more.”  
  
A silence stretched between them.  
  
Chris decided to switch his disposition. “Why do you hate it?” He seemed genuinely interested.  
  
“The job is so boring, Chris. All I do all day is get papers in an inbox and sort them into piles based on what type of paperwork it is. That’s it. I sit in a boring chair all day in the corner of an open room with no one else even close to me and all I do is draw on the papers because what else is there to do? And then I get in trouble for doing that, and today I had to go back and erase everything.” PJ realized he was probably oversharing, and took another swig of his tea, which wasn’t as hot as before. It was brewed strong.  
  
“I’m sorry about having to erase your drawings,” Chris said at last. “I wish you had a job that you enjoyed more. It’s a shame your artwork has to be reduced to eraser shreds on the floor.” PJ nodded in response.  
  
“Y-yeah, thank you. Do you enjoy working as a barista?”  
  
“I just started this morning, but it’s good so far. I enjoy greeting all kinds of people throughout the day. I guess there’s a school nearby because all these middle schoolers busted in around three o-clock with their lengthy orders.”  
  
“I bet you give your number to all the boys that walk in.” PJ joked.  
  
“Only the cute ones. Either way, this job is mainly an in-between gig before I figure out what I want to do. Well, I know what I want to do, acting, but I guess it isn’t a real job and ‘doesn’t pay the bills’ to quote my mother. I was pretty serious about theater in high school but fell out of love with it in my senior year. I want to do it again though.” PJ noticed Chris cower in, making him appear smaller. He sensed something bad had happened but decided not to push.  
  
In an attempt to lighten the mood, PJ tried to make a lighthearted joke about the hot chocolate, and it seemed to help a little. “So what do you do outside of your job?” He had asked Chris.  
  
“Video games, mainly. You?”  
  
“Same, actually. That and just watch cartoons. I’m currently in season 6 of rewatching Adventure Time. I’m a firm believer in the philosophy that cartoons aren’t strictly for kids.”  
  
Chris nodded in agreement. “If they weren’t for adults, we wouldn’t have The Simpsons. God knows what an awful world that would be.” They laughed.  
  
“I bet I could beat you at your own game.” PJ challenged. He felt confident, as he and his dad used to play all different kinds of games when he was younger.  
  
Without taking a second to think about it, Chris replied with “Mario Kart. I’ve been playing it since it first came out.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
In a couple hours, they would meet up again at PJ’s flat to have a competition. Although it might have seemed to be a little soon, considering they just met that same day, PJ felt comfortable with Chris because they shared PJ’s biggest passion: video games. He had a feeling Chris was going to be either very good for him, or very bad for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chris had beaten him at Mario Kart at least twice now, and PJ felt properly defeated. They had ordered a pizza, which now lay open and empty on the bed as the two stared intently at the TV, attempting to talk as they played.  
  
“So where did you grow up— shoot!” Chris exclaimed as he drove right into a banana peel.  
  
“Haha! And, here in Brighton. Before I went to college I lived here with my dad, and he still lives here too, but his house is more northern Brighton. What about you?”  
  
“Harrogate. My mum and brother and I moved here because my brother got some kind of scholarship to Sussex to study... I don’t remember. My mother saw it mandatory that we pick up and move wherever he went, so here we are.”  
  
“You seemed to work a lot of hours at the cafe this morning, is it a full-time job— Yes!” PJ celebrated as he hit another player with a turtle shell.  
  
Chris began to cuss out Yoshi for sending him a blue shell, dropping his place to 4th. “No, it’s just part-time, but I kept covering shifts and ended up working most of the day. They seem to enjoy me working there.”  
  
“I’ve been going there for a long time, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as exuberant as you so early in the morning.”  
  
“Well, I try my best. Making people laugh or even just smile is pretty important to me.”  
  
The rest of their time went on like this, making casual conversation while playing round after round of Mario Kart. Although Chris won most of the time, PJ had a few victories. Before they knew it, it was already 11:30. They had both gotten tired of Mario Kart and PJ ended up reclining on the bed, watching Chris play Portal.  
  
The conversation had turned a little more serious. “Why’d your mum leave?” Chris had asked. PJ stared at the ceiling.  
  
“My dad used to insist it wasn’t because of me, but it really was. She always got so frustrated with him for spending so much money—money we didn’t have—on video games or movie tickets. He would always tell me that nothing that happened had been my fault, but I’m fairly sure if I hadn’t been around, they would both be better off.”  
  
Chris took a moment to think. “Some marriages are doomed to fail. It’s like rocks on a cliff. If there are two rocks on top of each other, just barely balancing, they are going to fall due to the wind or something like that. Just a small rock on top—you—could topple the balancing act, but it was inevitable.” He had paused the portal game. “You wouldn’t be who you are today if it hadn’t have happened.”  
  
PJ couldn’t find a proper way to respond. “I-I guess so,” He said lamely. “Why’d your dad leave?”  
  
The sleepy atmosphere had shattered, the tension surrounding them. The room felt too small. He had said the wrong thing.  
  
“He didn’t,” Chris said shortly. He didn’t move a muscle. “He died.”  
  
PJ tried to backtrack. “Chris I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up, I just thought-“  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
A long silence stretched between them, PJ struggling with something to say when Chris spoke again. “He supported me through everything. While the rest of my family made fun of my acting, he never did. He encouraged me to pursue what made me happy and that I was never happier than when I was performing.”  
  
Chris’s shoulders dropped. “It was the end of my junior year in high school. Car crash,” His voice faltered, but he kept on. “I wanted to quit acting. Without him there, no one pushed me to keep at it. I tried, oh, God, I tried so hard to keep on. I had to force myself to even join the theater troop the next year, and even then, everyone knew something was off. Rumors started. It was shit for a long while.” It was evident that he was choosing his next words carefully. “There were people in my group that encouraged me, and things did get better. All bad times are meant to get better, it just takes time.”  
  
If PJ didn’t know what to say before, he was certainly at a loss for words now. “I’m glad you did what you loved. You went against your family to pursue your happiness. That’s real courage.” He heard himself say.  
  
Chris had turned off the TV and spun around to face PJ. “Is that so?” A smirk had spread across his face. “Then maybe you should pursue your happiness and quit your dismal job.”  
  
PJ laughed. “It’s not that simple. I don’t have anything else to do.”  
  
“Hmm,” Chris pondered. “Maybe one day.” He suddenly swung his legs around and stood up. He stretched. “So! Tell me all about this cozy little place. I like the framed art posters,” He eyed the posters, running a finger along the frame.  
  
PJ explained that they had been memories of games he used to play with his dad, and he keeps them up there to remember them. Chris then went around and asked about everything in the room, from the story of picking the fairy lights on his headboard to how long he had owned his shoes near the door.  
  
He had gotten around to the small desk and the blue folder that laid on top. PJ eyed this folder most every day, staying away from it. He was fairly sure it had a layer of dust on the top. Chris advanced towards it, opening it up. sure enough, dust swept into the air. With each page Chris studied in the pocket, his eyebrows raised higher. His mouth formed a little ‘o’.  
  
“PJ,” He said at last. “These are incredible. I didn’t know by sketch you meant actual artwork. How long did it take you to do this?” He took out a paper, and PJ recognized it immediately.  
  
It was a rocket ship with intricate details on each design part, flying through space. Earth was a small dot in the distance, with oddly colored and shaped planets in the background. PJ had been particularly proud of that one. “I-I don’t remember,” He lowered his gaze. If he looked at it too long, he might get tempted.  
  
He could tell Chris was about to ask another question, so he told him to take it if he liked it so much. “Do you not?” He asked. PJ shrugged. Chris muttered thank you, placed the drawing on top of the closed folder face down, and stopped asking about the room. He went and sat on the bed again.  
  
“Want to watch The Simpsons?” PJ asked suddenly, desperately wanting to change the subject. Chris could tell, and decided to drop the matter, and agreed.  
  
They only watched two episodes before Chris decided it was getting late and he ought to go home now. They said goodbye and promised each other to do it again soon, and he was gone.  
  
PJ showered quickly and changed for bed, drinking a glass of water before laying down, pulling back the sheets.  
  
He tried to watch some cartoons, but couldn’t stop thinking about Chris. How much PJ had liked having someone else in the flat, and how happy he felt when they were talking. Even about the sensitive stuff, it felt nice, to be honest with someone.


	5. Chapter 5

It surprised PJ how close he and Chris had gotten over just a few days. He came over again on Saturday and promptly complained about PJ’s duvet, convincing him to go and buy him a new one. The bed was now made with a Tetris-like duvet— much more colorful than the gray one he had before. After they made PJ’s bed, Chris stayed late and the two played video games and ordered pizza again. He left around midnight.  
  
Similarly, on Sunday, he claimed to have left his watch at PJ’s place. Now, both of them knew Chris didn’t wear a watch, so it was not to the surprise of PJ that Chris ended up staying much longer than required, scarcely looking for the imaginary watch before the pair fell into the routine of relaxing on PJ’s bed, playing video games or watching TV. Before Chris left, PJ told him that he didn’t have to make excuses to come over. He had smiled in response.  
  
On Monday, PJ was back at work. Now that he had something to look forward to after work, time seemed to slow to a stop. Mr. Boss Man wobbled his fat body up to PJ’s desk, his face as red as a tomato.  
  
“My office. now.” He whisper-shouted. PJ tried to calm his nerves. This time felt more serious than the other times. Nevertheless, he stood up after the boss had gone, and greeted him in his office. He slumped into the familiar chair, trying not to look Mr. Boss Man in his beady eyes.

“Liguori,” He tried to keep his temper under control. “I give you chance after chance for you to prove to me you aren’t some kid, that you can be professional in a working environment and have some respect for what the workers at this company do. For what this company does for you. I’ve had it, Liguori, I really have. So, here I am. One last chance until your extenuating circumstances run out.” PJ gulped, scratching the familiar wooden indent on the armrest.

“You like drawing so much, huh? How’s this for designing. You should know the company logo by now— it’s printed at the top of most every report you get. Take the logo and make it better. We’re growing as a company and our logo needs to be renovated. Since you love drawing all over papers, I guess we’re going to have to get you occupied on a project instead of taking it out on others’ work. Improve the logo, present it to me and the board at the meeting on Friday. If you can’t, and you continue to vandalize the work of your peers, I will have no choice but to fire you.” PJ looked up to see if he was serious.  
  
His eyes were unwavering on PJ, and it made PJ squirm.  
  
“Y-yes, sir,” PJ said, before standing up to leave.  
  
Later, at the cafe, he tried to act as normal as possible, but he suddenly couldn’t remember how he usually acts. Chris seemed to have known that something was wrong, and called him out for it.  
  
“PJ, what’s the matter?” PJ met his eyes for the first time all evening and shrugged. “Don’t try that, I already know something’s bothering you. What is it?”  
  
“I have this... project I was assigned to at work today. I have to redesign the company logo by Friday and present it to The Board and my boss or else they fire me. Chris, I... I think he’s serious this time.”  
  
“Didn’t you say he used that line before? Peej, I don’t think you need to stress this much. Just change the font or whatever and turn it in. You’ll be fine.”  
  
“No,” PJ said abruptly. “I don’t think you get it. There’s nothing holding me there except my mother’s persuasiveness on the boss. I don’t have any qualifications, and apparently, no more chances. I can’t lose this job, Chris, I just can’t.” He heard his voice crack and cursed it.  
  
“Hey, now, come on. It’s going to be fine. It always is.” He said, placing his warm hand on PJ’s forearm across the table. “You can do it. You’ve been drawing before you could walk, probably, you can change around a few designs, yeah?” PJ shrugged and nodded. “I’ll come over tonight and accompany you while you work on it, alright?”  
  
“Okay,” PJ agreed. “That would be a lot of help. Thanks, Chris.”  
  
“Of course. I have to work on something for my online class at home but I’ll be over right after that.”  
  
“You take online classes?” PJ asked.  
  
“Oh,” Chris blushed. “Yeah, I enrolled on Saturday. You’ve inspired me, Liguori.” PJ laughed.  
  
“See you in a bit,” He says, squeezing Chris’ hand that laid on the table before leaving.  
  
Chris didn’t come over for three hours more, which surprised PJ. He must have really been taking his class seriously. Once he did come, however, they decided to play a couple rounds of Mario Kart before properly getting started on the logo. A couple games turned into a tournament, then a bet, and two hours later they had pizza delivered and were getting very competitive.  
  
PJ was the first to break out of the trance and look at the clock. “Chris,” He said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s ten-thirty”  
  
“Wh- no it isn’t, we’ve only been playing for half an hour.” Chris didn’t tear his eyes from the screen.  
  
“Chris, I’m telling you,” PJ started to laugh. “It’s been two hours. I need to get started on the logo project.”  
  
He finally looked around. The room had grown dark with the setting sun, the only lights coming from the fairy lights and the lights near the table on the other side of the room. “Oh,” Chris muttered. “It is late. Well, let’s get started then.”  
  
For the next half hour or so, PJ and Chris laid on their stomachs, PJ’s laptop in front of them. PJ mainly did most of the designing, as it was his project after all, but Chris did put in his thoughts. They had downloaded the image online and put it in photoshop. It was a basic enough photo, with a minimal design of the text Hallgate, the name of the company, with two towers for L’s.  
  
PJ had an idea of what he wanted to do, but he was having trouble translating it into photoshop. Chris didn’t know the first thing about photo editing software, so he was really helping out with moral support. Nevertheless, PJ was glad Chris was with him.  
  
Chris ended up making it hard for PJ to concentrate. PJ’s heart was racing when Chris moved so their arms were pressed against each other. “You haven’t moved the mouse,” Chris whispered. PJ snapped out of his train of thought.  
  
“S-sorry,” he stammered, refocusing.  
  
They decided to call it a day at eleven-fifteen—despite making little progress—and ended up watching The Simpsons for the rest of their time. Somehow, they ended up laying down shoulder-to-shoulder; closer than they had ever been before.  
  
This is nice, PJ finally decided. Chris had laughed at the show and it made PJ’s heart flutter in a way it hadn’t before. So, that’s how this is going to go. He thought to himself. And, for once, he decided to let his heart do what it pleased.  
  
PJ was pretty sure Chris had fallen asleep. His head had rolled against PJ’s shoulder. PJ felt himself nod off to sleep, and he almost did, until he remembered the reality of the situation.  
  
“Chris,” PJ whispered, trying to wake him up. To no avail, he squeezed his hand, which laid limply across his stomach. Chris had stirred, holding onto PJ’s hand. When his eyes opened, and he realized what he was doing, he let his hand go and murmured a sleepy apology.  
  
“What time is it?” He asked groggily, sitting up slowly.  
  
“Almost one in the morning. Chris, maybe you should just stay here tonight.” Chris nodded in response, leaning his head against the bed frame. “Though, I only have one bed, so we’ll have to share.”  
  
“I’ll manage,” Chris yawned.  
  
The two eventually got up and dressed in some of PJ’s clothes—except underwear, of course—and crawled back into bed, assumed the position they were in before, and drifted to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The crude alarm woke the two up. PJ opened his eyes to see Chris curled into him, his head resting against PJ’s chest. He squinted at the morning light filtering into the room and the sudden ringing of the alarm. PJ moved to turn it off and returned to the position he was in before. “I’ve got to get up,” He said at last. Chris groaned in response, grabbing a fist full of his shirt. PJ grinned.  
  
“Just stay here. Who needs work?” He said groggily. PJ wanted to stay, but in reality, this was not the week to miss any work.  
  
PJ managed to wriggle away from sleepy Chris and got up, crawling over Chris to get off the bed.  
  
He got dressed in his usual dress shirt, suspenders, and coat, brushed his teeth, and put on his shoes. PJ then walked back over to Chris.  
  
“I hope you don’t work this morning,” In response, Chris muttered something about going in at twelve. “Okay, well, there’s a key on the table. Lock up when you leave, okay? I’ll text you later.” Chris mumbled a sleepy ‘okay’ and pulled up the sheets to fall asleep again.  
  
The cafe was less lively than normal without Chris’ bright mood lighting up the room. After this morning, he guessed Chris wasn’t as much of a morning person as PJ had thought. He got his usual tea and left for work, the morning seeming a little prettier on his usual drive.  
  
He walked into his building only a couple minutes late, past all the forty-year-old coworker’s cubicles to his desk in the back. Just as yesterday, the day seemed to drag on forever. Each worker trotted slower than usual to place their paper in his box with a frown, before walking even slower back to their cubicles.  
  
PJ hadn’t drawn on any papers. He managed to constrain himself, and, instead, did his job properly and sorted the papers as he was supposed to do. Mr. Boss Man walked by and gave him a nod of approval; something that had never happened before.  
  
Chris had been texting him lame puns throughout the day, and even though they were silly and made him roll his eyes, they brightened PJ’s day.  
  
This became a usual happening. PJ would go to work, Chris would text him throughout the day, they would meet for a hot drink after work, then go to PJ’s house. On Wednesday, PJ had made plans to visit with his dad, so he told Chris he couldn’t come over until later.  
  
After work, PJ drove to his dad’s house. It was the house PJ grew up in, as they had paid it off by then and there was no real reason to move anywhere else.  
  
The first thing PJ noticed was that his dad had cleaned. The newspapers were cleared from the floors and the furniture, and the coffee mugs were not covering the tables.  
  
“PJ!” His dad called. He had graying hair now, his smile creased and dimpled. “I was hoping you’d help me clean out some of the rooms today.”  
  
While they worked, his dad chatted with him about his life, and about the gossip from all his neighbors. PJ told his dad about Chris, who had muttered something along the lines of “I knew it!”  
  
Once they had reached PJ’s bedroom, nostalgia crashed on him like a wave. Posters of bands and video games littered the walls, his sky-blue Mario duvet still untouched like the day he left it. The lightbulb in the fan was still out, and the closet door still had pencil marks of PJ’s height over the years. He missed coming home.  
  
PJ’s dad had a sparkle in his eye as he pulled out an old folder from under the bed. PJ recognized it immediately, grabbing the yellow folder from his dad’s crinkled hands.  
  
He opened it, and inside, every creature that PJ had ever drawn laid before his eyes. Frequently, a blue, penguin-like creature he couldn’t name appeared on most all the drawings. He thanked his dad for the folder.  
  
He stayed for dinner, a nostalgic Mac-n-Cheese and green beans, and they chatted some more about everything except PJ’s job. When his dad had found out why he had that job, he knew PJ wasn’t happy and urged him to quit and pursue something he loved doing instead. Except, drawing didn’t make him any money. Creating stories didn’t make him a living. Real life got in the way of his dreams.  
  
Throughout the years, PJ had always offered to give his dad some money to help him maintain the house, but his dad refused everything except PJ’s request to put it in his retirement savings at Christmas. Other than that, his dad always claimed that PJ should save every penny to go back to college.  
  
They said they goodbyes, and on the way back to his flat, PJ texted Chris that he could come over.  
  
When he arrived, PJ wanted to tell him all about his visit with his dad, but his dad wanted him to leave the yellow folder, so he had to redraw everything he talked about.  
  
He opened a cupboard in the desk and took out pieces of paper and colored pencils of every shade. PJ began to furiously sketch the first thing he could think of.  
  
“He’s called a color bandit. He desaturates entire worlds until everything is just white, but color hurts him. See? Here, the red? It’s like, stinging him. And he tries to fight the color, but he can’t because it’s just chalk, you know? There’s nothing to fight! So, he crumples to the ground, no longer able to steal colors.” He animated, repeatedly putting down the colored pencil to tell the story with his hands. Oh, how he wanted more hands, so he could do both at once!  
  
Chris had looked very intrigued, laughing and smiling, just as an adult would look at a kid telling these stories. PJ shoved the drawing of the color bandit into his hands and swiveled his chair around to start another.  
  
He took blues and drew as much as he could remember from the paper his dad had shown him, quickly sketching him before giving the paper to Chris proudly, who had been standing over his shoulder. He laughed as PJ stood up to tell him about the drawing. “I’ve had this imaginary friend since I was a kid... oh, what did I name it?” Chris looked at PJ quizzically with a smile on his face and informed him that his drawing looked like a blue penguin. PJ walked around the flat.  
  
“Fuzzwald!” PJ exclaimed. “I named him Fuzzwald. When I was a kid we would fight off monsters like Love Bug, who sucked love from the world. We defeated him by using this fusion… Chris?” Chris’ smile had dropped from his face.  
  
“Where did this PJ go?” PJ dropped his hands which had been flying around as he told the story.  
  
“Chris, I was just a kid. We all made up games and imaginary friends.” Chris was dissatisfied with this.  
  
“No,” He said. “We don’t all do this. PJ, you didn’t just create imaginary friends. You created new worlds with monsters that were well thought out. Did you hear how passionate you were just now, rambling on about these stories you created? Peej, I’ve never seen your eyes light up more.”  
  
PJ stayed silent. He did feel happy telling Chris about his childhood friends, but they were just stories.  
  
“Tell me more of the stories, please.” So, PJ did. He drew more and more of the creatures, from talking wizard hats to frog mutants, and Chris hung onto every word.  
  
When, at last, he had finished, Chris got up and hugged him. Taken aback by this, it took him a second to reciprocate the gesture. “I’m not letting you rot away at a corporate office,” Chris whispered.  
  
He stayed the night, and they worked on the project a little, but mainly just talked about everything from the correct way to prepare popcorn to how to care for a succulent plant, and it was the happiest night PJ could remember.


	7. Chapter 7

The two wound up in a similar position as they did on Tuesday morning, but even closer, if possible. PJ wished he could stay with Chris in the cold morning under warm sheets with him forever, but he never could.  
  
Chris also worked that morning, so PJ needed to get them both awake. As it turns out, Chris sleeps like a hibernating bear when he wants to.  
  
He dropped him off at the cafe before heading into his own work, in which he sorted papers quickly and took out his laptop in his now weighted briefcase to work on the project.  
  
For most of the day, he felt very productive. He worked on the logo design and even began a PowerPoint to discuss designs for the presentation he would be giving to The Board members. Mr. Boss Man had swung by to check in, and PJ told him about his logo and showed him what he was working on. In response, Mr. Boss Man told him if he kept it up, he would be receiving a pay raise or even a promotion in his future. PJ was beaming. He thanked him and returned to his work.  
  
Five o’clock came quickly, and PJ was excited about meeting with Chris at the cafe.  
  
“How was your day?” PJ asked excitedly, drinking his tea quickly.  
  
“Uh, it was fine... what about you?” He asked suspiciously.  
  
“Oh, my day was wonderful! I got so much work done. I finished everything I need for my presentation tomorrow.”  
  
“That’s great, Peej. Did someone slip something in your drink? You are glowing.”  
  
“Haha! No, I’m just really, really happy. Aren’t you happy? What a beautiful day. What should we do today? The world’s ours. We should order something different tonight. What about Chinese? We haven’t ordered any Chinese food yet.”  
  
“Chinese it is!” Chris exclaimed, laughing.  
  
Later that night, PJ was still very happy. They had both happily munched on their Chinese food and were chatting about Chris’ theater experiences.  
  
“We used to do Romeo and Juliet every year at my school, did you do it at yours?”  
  
Chris looked uncomfortable for the first time all night. “Uh, yeah, I played Mercutio.”  
  
“Oh, that’s swell. I always thought Romeo and Mercutio were flirting when I first read the play.” PJ could have sworn he saw Chris’ face fall for a split second, but it was back to smiling before he could be sure. “But I always thought the whole ‘dying for love’ is silly, because they couldn’t be together after death. I would rather live seeing the one I love every day but not being able to be with them rather than killing myself over it. Wouldn’t you?”  
  
“Y-yeah, sure. I mean, I could probably understand that kind of love worth dying for, but I don’t think they had to die for it. Just run away and be together, or whatever.”  
  
“Maybe. I don’t know, it was written a long time ago. It wasn’t real, anyway. Hey, isn’t it crazy that if Romeo and Juliet hadn’t been written, we wouldn’t be talking about it right now? What would we talk about?”  
  
Chris smiled. “I have no idea, Peej. Whatever you would want to talk about.”  
  
Once they finished their food, Chris proposed a game to play.  
  
“Why don’t you take your company logo and just go completely nuts with it? Fill it with colors and shapes and drawings— a proper PJ makeover.” PJ laughed and agreed, and even made a silly PowerPoint to go along with it.  
  
The finished logo had two balloon animal hats around the H and G, with pink clouds of cotton candy and popcorn sticking all over it. Of course, it was a drawing, so it looked like a cartoon. Even the font of Hallgate was changed to something silly, and Chris expressed his approval by kissing PJ on the cheek, causing a deep blush.  
  
After they had a good laugh about the logo, they decided to get ready for bed. PJ yawned and said it was feeling tired, so he went to bed early, returning the kiss on the cheek before settling down. This made Chris die in his Call of Duty game, causing PJ to laugh as Chris cussed. Finally, he felt himself go to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

In the morning, he woke up before his alarm, and took the time to relish in Chris’ company before his big day. He tried to be hyperaware of Chris’ every finger on his chest, slowly rising and falling with his breathing. Once the alarm went off, PJ turned it off quickly, hoping not to wake Chris. For once, he had actually woken up.  
  
“Good morning,” PJ said in a scratchy morning voice. Chris mumbled ‘morning,’ in response, still too tired to make real sentences. PJ gently removed Chris’ hand, much to his protests, and got dressed for the day. He opted for a new, crisp white dress shirt instead of his old one in hopes that it would help him come across as professional.  
  
Chris actually got up and moved to the fold-out chair from the wall, taking one of the blankets from the bed and wrapping it around himself. He looked ill.  
  
“Are you feeling alright?” PJ asked him hesitantly. Chris nodded and gave him a sleepy smile, and PJ was overcome with butterflies in his stomach, pushing him to lean forward and kiss Chris on the lips, which neither of them was expecting. ‘I-I’ll see you later,” PJ stammered, a blush infecting both their faces. Chris smiling at him, whispering an ‘okay’ before PJ was out the door.  
  
He practically skipped his way to the car, not believing he really just did that.  
  
He grabbed his green tea once at the cafe and drove quickly to work, eager to get his presentation over with. He kept reaching over to the passenger seat to feel his laptop and reassure himself that it was there.  
  
He was on a crunch for time. The meeting was due to begin at 9:15, and PJ parked his car right at 9:10. Running inside, he asked the receptionist where the meeting was taking place and then tried to fast-walk to the meeting room.  
  
Just as he started up his computer, the Board members started filing in. He felt jitters in his stomach as he brought up the file explorer, searching for the PowerPoint and quickly hitting ‘Start’ before examining the slide thumbnails.  
  
He stood at the front of the room near the projection screen, which was on the first slide—a black screen—with one of his coworkers coming in to play slides on his computer in the back.  
  
All the businessmen that came in were double PJ’s age, with expensive suits and black clothes. He felt inferior and tried to gain his confidence by thinking of what he did this morning. Once his boss came in and took his seat on the side of the table, he nodded to PJ, and he began.  
  
He signaled for the man in the back to keep it on the black screen. PJ cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he started. “This proud company was established decades ago and has been successful from the beginning. I propose that we keep its logo looking as modern as the world we live in, so I designed a new logo for this corporation that looks as sleek and professional as we are. May I present, your new logo.” He pointed his finger at the man in the back, who gave him an unsure look before clicking.  
  
PJ’s stomach plummeted to his feet as he studied the faces of the Board members. Confused, amused, and enraged. That was certainly not the expressions he was hoping for. Swiveling around, he could see why they looked that way.  
  
On the board, the company logo of balloon animals and pink cotton candy clouds lay proudly.  
  
“Say, what are the little dots on the letters?” One of the women asked.  
  
“I believe they are pieces of popcorn, Mrs.” Another member said.  
  
PJ felt his head go extremely dizzy. He was so confused. Surely, he had opened the right PowerPoint. He had named the silly one explicitly, so he would know not to present it. Somehow, the names got switched. Unless...  
  
No, PJ thought. Chris wouldn’t do that. Surely, he knew how important this was for me. There has to be some other reason. A malfunction.  
  
“Mr... who are you?” The president of the Board sitting at the front of the table asked.  
  
“Liguori.” Mr. Boss Man said shortly, his face turning red with anger.  
  
“Ah, well,” The president looked around, clearly unamused by his logo. “I’m sure this is all very funny to you, Mr. Liguori, but to the rest of us, Hallgate is not a joke. You are wasting our valuable time, Mr. Liguori, and I assure you that we will not waste yours anymore. You are dismissed. As for Mr. Carson, I believe you hired this young adolescent? Perhaps we should be questioning your abilities as head of your branch. Mr. Liguori, you are dismissed.”  
  
He felt his heart shatter and his body go numb. “N-no, ma’am, please. This is all a big misunderstanding. I made a real logo, I swear! Please, let me pull it up for you. I am so sorry-“  
  
“I’m afraid your chances are all up, Mr. Liguori. You are dismissed.”  
  
“Ma’am, it’s right on my computer, please-“  
  
“Liguori,” Mr. Carson said, not looking him in the eye. “Gather your things at your desk and leave. I don’t want to see you in this building after you leave this room. Understood?”  
  
PJ felt himself nod, feeling weak and embarrassed. He closed his laptop, watching the pitiful logo flicker out as he disconnected the projector from his laptop. He took it with shaky hands into his bag and left.  
  
There was nothing at his desk to collect, so he trudged to his car, defeated and confused.  
  
He tried to come up with ways that it could have happened. It couldn’t have been Chris, He thought. We went to bed at the same ti- Then, he remembered. Chris had stayed up late playing video games. Surely it was little to no effort to log onto his computer and change the PowerPoint titles.

He felt sick.  
  
It was only 9:30, he was certain Chris would still be in his flat.  
  
He muddled his way up the stairs to his door, erasing the ‘hello, Peej!’ On the whiteboard from Chris as he opened the door with his key.  
  
“Peej! My lover has returned.” PJ couldn’t even comprehend the pet name; his eyes saw red. “Good news—there’s a Jurassic Park marathon on TV tonight!”  
  
“What the hell were you thinking!” PJ shouts. Chris has a confused look on his face.  
  
“I thought you liked Jur- “  
  
“You did something to the presentation! I had to present that God-awful logo clusterfuck we made last night instead of the project I worked so hard on! I looked like an idiot and it’s your fault.”  
  
“Wha- PJ I didn’t think it was that serious…”  
  
“You didn’t think it was that… I told you all the time about how close I had been from being fired—I told you he had said if I didn’t nail this I would be fired, and guess what!” Chris shook his head, disbelief in his eyes, mumbling ‘no’ under his breath. “I GOT FIRED.” Saying the words out loud further confirmed it, and his voice cracked at the last word. “is that serious enough for you?”  
  
“PJ, I…” Chris started, his voice coming out quiet and weak. “I’m so sorry. I-I had no idea.”  
  
“You should go,” PJ lowered his gaze as he felt tears forming in his eyes.  
  
“W-what?” Chris stuttered, unable to comprehend what was happening. “Peej, I said I was sorry- “  
  
“And I said you should go.” He couldn’t look at Chris’ face in fear of seeing the streaks down his cheeks melting away PJ’s stern composure. Chris kept saying how sorry he was, how guilty he felt, how he’d fix it.  
  
“Peej,” he whispered. “You’re all I’ve got. D-don’t do this.”  
  
“P-please, Chris.” Chris had worn down PJ’s façade, his voice soft and pleading. He heard the bed squeak as Chris moved off of it, a rare crushed look on his usually joyous face. PJ didn’t look up again until the door closed, and the flat was quiet again, apart from the heavy footsteps down the hall and the dragging sound as PJ sank, his back against the door through which he threw out the one he loved.


	9. Chapter 9

PJ was the definition of a slump. He hadn’t changed his clothes in days, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t showered, hadn’t moved from his bed.  
  
Everything reminded him of Chris. He couldn’t play his favorite video games anymore, as all he could remember were the times they played them. He couldn’t watch cartoons. He couldn’t sleep on Chris’ usual side of the bed.  
  
He didn’t know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Going back to college didn’t seem like a good idea anymore, drawing was something he had shared with Chris.  
  
When there was a knock on the door, PJ couldn’t even muster the strength to say ‘go away’ so he was quite surprised when the door unlocked and opened.  
  
“Hey, Peej,” His dad’s voice drifted through the silent apartment. “You haven’t been answering my phone calls in a few days, what’s going on, kid?”  
  
“Dad, I...” He hadn’t used his voice in days. It cracked and faltered. “I got fired.” PJ felt tears well up in his eyes. He heard his dad take off his shoes, walk over to the bed, and lay down on it. PJ tried not to think about Chris doing the same thing.  
  
“We’ve been through some tough times, son. We’ve been through poverty and a divorce and growing up. Life. It isn’t fair, and it isn’t easy. But we’ve always had each other, and that made things bearable. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, and I’m so sorry you lost your job, but, PJ,” His dad looked over at him, who was staring at the ceiling. “Things happen for a reason. This could be the start of something wonderful, you have to give it a chance. Forgive him.” PJ looked over, surprised. “If you love him, you need to talk about it. I’m going to go and get us some food. I love you, son, but you wreak. Take a shower, okay?”  
  
“I’m not ready to talk to him,” PJ said meekly.  
  
“You don’t have to yet, just take care of yourself first. I’ll be back in a bit.”  
  
PJ dragged himself out of bed, letting his toes feel the cold wood floor before standing up. He took a cold shower and stared at himself in the mirror. He certainly looked less shit after the shower, and he felt a little better.  
  
He put on cozy mismatched socks and made up the bed. He plugged in his dead phone, watching the screen light up. He swept the floor and wiped down the bathroom counter and mirrors. He even opened the window to let in the cold, fresh air.  
  
PJ heard another knock on the door and let in his dad, who smiled at him. “Do you feel better already?” PJ nodded, eyeing the sandwiches his dad had in his hands.  
  
They had lunch, and PJ told his dad what happened. He paid close attention to each word, nodding as the story went along.  
  
Once he had finished, his dad and he had long since finished their food, and PJ felt a lot better.  
  
“Do you feel ready?”  
  
PJ nodded, thanked his dad, and hugged him goodbye.  
  
“Hey, we’ve been through a lot, kid. We can get through some more.”


	10. Chapter 10

PJ hadn’t gone to the cafe in days. It felt weird going there so late in the day and not driving to work right after. Just as he entered the door, Janet approached him. “PJ, you wouldn’t happen to have seen Chris lately? He hasn’t been at work in a few days.”  
  
“I actually came here to ask if he was working now,” PJ replied.  
  
“We haven’t heard from him. We figured you might know where he is. I’m sorry, I can take your order really quick. What will it be? Green tea?”  
  
“Iced this time,” PJ replied, remembering how nice the cold shower made him feel. “Do you know his address? I was hoping to talk to him.”  
  
“I’ll have to ask the manager if I can tell you... be right back.” PJ realized he had never visited Chris at his apartment. Soon, Janet came back with a piece of paper.  
  
“The customers have been asking about him. Please try to convince him to come back.” She handed him his iced tea, and he was off.  
  
The flat building was smaller than PJ’s but still charming. He followed the address to the second floor and knocked on the door with the correct number.  
  
A tall, skinny guy answered the door. His skin was white as a sheet and made his black fringe look even darker. “Good god,” he said to PJ. “You must be him.” PJ looked at him, bewildered. “Right, I’m Phil, nice to meet you and all, but please,” He begged, opening the door. “Fix him.”  
  
PJ walked in, following Phil’s directions to the back of the hall to a dark bedroom.  
  
It was hard to make out any details, but the curtains were drawn in the square room, with the sound of a whirling fan blowing cold air in the stuffy bedroom. For a moment, PJ didn’t even see Chris, until he realized he was unmoving in bed.  
  
PJ knocked on the door frame. “Chris? It’s PJ. Can I come in?” Chris had mumbled something in his pillows, which were navy blue. “What?”  
  
“If you’re going to yell at me again, please leave.”  
  
PJ’s heart cracked. “No, no, Chris I’m not going to yell. I promise. God, I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened.” He walked to the blackout curtain and drew it back, letting sunlight illuminate the room.  
  
A wooden desk burrowed in the corner with a computer, a textbook, and papers littering the top. Online class, PJ remembered. Dirty clothes lay strewn over the floor, and PJ had stepped over them all to Chris’ bed. Chris looked extremely pale, his chocolate eyes puffy from crying. He sat up, and PJ realized he was wearing a shirt of PJ’s that he must’ve kept from spending the night.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” PJ whispered, enveloping Chris in a hug. To PJ’s relief, he hugged back.  
  
“Me too,” he whispered.  
  
PJ tried to remember all the things his dad said to do. “Chris, you should clean up a little, okay? I’ll wait in the living room. Everything’s going to be okay.” Chris nodded, watching PJ leave his room.  
  
PJ walked down the hallway to the living room, which he passed before, to see Phil on the couch watching television with a brunette boy. “How’d it go?” Phil asked. PJ shrugged.  
  
“Could you help him clean up a little, maybe?” PJ asked, looking down at his feet. Phil laughed, patted PJ on the back, and went down the hallway. Feeling awkward, PJ took a seat on the chair opposite the couch.  
  
“Hi, my name is Dan. You’re Chris’ boyfriend, right?” The brunette asked, looking up from his phone.  
  
“N-not officially.”  
  
A silence stretched between them. PJ heard the shower turn on.  
  
“What are you watching?” PJ asked, directing his attention to the anime playing on TV.  
  
Dan went on a long speech about the anime they were watching and gave PJ at least 10 different recommendations that he thinks PJ would like, and only stopped when he looked down the hallway and saw Chris, showered and dressed in clean clothes. He looked from PJ to Dan, uncomfortable.  
  
Phil came up from behind Chris. “Hey, Dan, let’s finish watching in my room.” As soon as Dan left and they heard the door close, both Chris and PJ began spilling out their apologies to one another.  
  
“PJ, it’s all my fault, I’m so sorry I changed the names-“  
  
“I overreacted, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me-“  
  
“I’ve been thinking and I realize how bad I messed up-“  
  
“I was a mess for days without you-“  
  
Finally, PJ just stood up and hugged Chris properly. “We’re going to be okay. I promise.” He told him. Chris nodded.  
  
“I’ve been looking at jobs, PJ, and I remembered I used to know someone named Jamie Swarbrick, and he opened his own graphic design company. I emailed him and asked him about positions and told him about your drawings and he really wants to meet you.” Chris talked so quickly that PJ could barely understand him.  
  
PJ thanked him extravagantly and Chris gave him the contact for Jamie. “It doesn’t pay as much but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it a lot more than the other job you had. And I know the people he works with, I think you’ll really like them. Especially Sophie, you two are very similar.”  
  
“I missed you.” Was all PJ could say. He was so, truly happy. They hugged again, and PJ called Jamie.


	11. Chapter 11

The next week had been a blur for PJ and Chris. PJ got hired at Jamie’s graphic design company practically right on site, and he had his office—with a real desk—set up a few days later. By Friday, he was properly employed.  
  
He was friends with everyone at work. Louis and Sophie were the main other two that helped Jamie start the company and PJ fit in, and they quickly became his best friends.  
  
After work, the four of them would meet Chris at the cafe, which was just down the street, and they would all enjoy hot drinks and share jokes and stories.  
  
Chris was motivated enough to finish his college class with a high score, getting him certified to start auditioning for theater companies in Brighton. It wasn’t much of a promise of a job, but it was a start, and that was all that he needed.  
  
PJ and his dad met at the cafe for lunch on Wednesdays to keep in touch more, as PJ felt he owed his dad for helping him get out of his slump. His dad always insisted that a father’s job is never done, especially if the kid moves out. He says that he will always be there to support PJ and that PJ owes him nothing, and that being his son is reward enough.  
  
Chris and PJ only got closer. They moved into PJ’s flat, which Chris was grateful for, considering his complaints that Phil was not the best roommate and that he would rather live with Dan anyway. And every night, they held each other, knowing they always sleep better together.  
  
They realized their pursuit of happiness wasn’t in a career choice at all, but it was always in the people they surrounded themselves with. The memories they made staying up late, having video game tournaments with friends, embarrassing themselves in public, and laughing.  
  
The world may not remember their names when they had gone, but they meant the world to each other.


End file.
